


I Wanted to Stay

by AKnightOfAGoodKing



Series: AKnightOfAGoodKing's Zine Portfolio [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Incest, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29174373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKnightOfAGoodKing/pseuds/AKnightOfAGoodKing
Summary: Excerpt:The younger twin huffed, shooting straight up and scowling at his brother who was— who wasseventeenagain, frowning with annoyance. He was dressed in a dark black sleeve and a pair of trousers, hair slicked back as always and face unmarked by the invisible scars of anger and hurt. It was as if time had moved but space remained, the manor unburnt and whole. Light didn’t stab through a broken roof but streamed through the glass windows, the painted walls rich and deep with life and care, tended carefully like a garden.“What . . . What is this?” Dante couldn’t help but ask, touching his face. He heard himself, his voice with a clear vibrance, and he felt himself, his skin smooth.What’s going on?ForIt's Got to Stay in the Family: A Spardacest zine(2020)[DO NOT REPOST/REUSE MY WORK(S) WITHOUT MY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND PERMISSION]
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: AKnightOfAGoodKing's Zine Portfolio [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141748
Kudos: 36





	I Wanted to Stay

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [It's Got To Stay in the Family: A Spardacest Zine](https://twitter.com/spardacestzine)!

_“Resist! I’m right here! I’m right here! Wake—”_

“—up, you lazy idiot!”

Groaning, Dante rolled over, trying to bury himself back to sleep, but whoever was annoying him grabbed his covers and yanked them away. _Asshole._ “Five more minutes!” he protested, shoving his head underneath his pillow. It was much softer than it had been last night, but he wasn’t complaining. Actually, everything felt softer; again, he wasn’t going to question it. “It’s not like we have to do anything today!”

“That’s no excuse. Mother’s waiting for us downstairs, and I won’t let you keep her waiting. _Now get up!_ ” 

The younger twin huffed, shooting straight up and scowling at his brother who was— who was _seventeen_ again, frowning with annoyance. He was dressed in a dark black sleeve and a pair of trousers, hair slicked back as always and face unmarked by the invisible scars of anger and hurt. It was as if time had moved but space remained, the manor unburnt and whole. Light didn’t stab through a broken roof but streamed through the glass windows, the painted walls rich and deep with life and care, tended carefully like a garden.

“What . . . What is this?” Dante couldn’t help but ask, touching his face. He heard himself, his voice with a clear vibrance, and he felt himself, his skin smooth. _What’s going on?_

“You slept so hard your brain decided to erase your memories rather than filter them,” Vergil said, rolling his eyes. He got off the bed but stole the covers as insurance. “You have five minutes to get downstairs, and if you’re not down there by then, I’ll throw your plate away.”

The younger was speechless, not by the poor threat of starvation but by the uncanniness of the world he woke up in. This seemed like a dream because he had dreamed this before, but he could have never dreamt it with such relief, peace on his mind. No ache in his heart. It couldn’t be a dream; he was _living_ , creating memory. 

Vergil frowned with scrutinizing eyes. He was not being taken seriously, but he hated to upset Mother. He’d matured from a short childish temper, but just barely. “Mother made french toast,” he baited, dropping the covers to the floor, and he turned, sweeping out of the room with his chin held up. 

Dante got out of bed immediately, rushing into the bathroom. He loved Mother’s french toast, buttery with cinnamon and chocolate chips; it was a simple recipe, but it was his mother’s and that made it all the more delicious than anything in the world. _Mother’s cooking,_ how long ago had he last had it? Was it not just last night? They had roasted lamb, and panna cotta for dessert. Mother went to bed early, and Vergil went to do some reading in the library.

When he was cleaned up, dressed almost like his brother, but his shirt was white with the top three buttons unbuttoned. Dante took in the state of his room. It was messy with a large desk right next to his plush bed, a large brown rug splaying out underneath. There were playing cards and darts scattered on the wooden surface, records and CDs stacked precariously, and a jukebox stood in the corner of the room by a worn-out couch. Magazines spilled from under his bed and desk. Yeah, it looked like his room; it _was_ his room. As chaotic as it was, he knew where everything was. 

_This isn’t real!_

Dante turned, expecting to see his brother shouting by the threshold, but he saw no one. He decided to hurry downstairs because he was sure his brother was counting down the clock, eyes watching every second. Vergil would definitely throw away his breakfast.

The hallway that led from the stairs to the dining room was filled with ornamental decor and family heirlooms. Half of them used to belong to Dante’s father before he left, gone forever. Mother never spoke about his abandon— _departure_. She simply smiled, both understanding and sad. Seeing it once was enough for both twins to never ask again, but Dante always wondered what would have been if the so-called legendary dark knight was still around. The two blades he had left behind were beautiful, one-of-a-kind, but they only ever did replace him when his sons had all but forgotten the sound of his voice. His presence no longer lingered in the manor. To Dante, Sparda was simply a face in the last and only family portrait, hung above in the solar. 

The solar was on the way to the dining room, and Dante peered inside, half expecting the room to be in ruins, covered in ash and dust. He found the portrait, and for a second, he saw it in disrepair, all but one face scratched away by spite and time. But he blinked; it was as clear as day, well kept and cared for. It hung above the fireplace, daunting like the statue of a saint at the altar, its existence a precious relic of a past that was so distant yet not so long ago. Dante felt empty seeing it. He knew the people in the painting, and he only recognized his mother, her golden hair like a halo. He had a picture of her on his desk, and he saw it every day.

He turned away from the fireplace, and he walked away, heading into the dining room. 

As Dante expected, Vergil was watching the face of the grandfather clock that stood between two large windows, morning light filling the whole room with gentle spring. The younger twin caught the barest glance his brother gave him, turning back to his breakfast without a word.

“Good morning, Dante,” a clear voice rang in the air, hallowed and _near_. 

He turned, searching, and he saw _her_. She looked the same; her yellow hair she’d grown past her breast and the soft lines on her face were reminders that time existed, and yet, she smiled with a joy beyond her age, and her eyes gleamed with fire that warmed Dante with the very thought of it. That smile, those eyes, no hurt or sorrow could ever tarnish them. 

“ _Mother,_ ” Dante breathed out, and he smiled, taking his first steps gingerly to join his family. 

There was just one more seat at the table, a plate set out just for him, and a small feast was laid out, the smell of freshly cooked food and the fragrance of freshly cut flowers mixing into a wonderful perfume. It made Dante hungry, so he sat down, feeling giddy. 

“Eat up, Dante,” she said, gesturing to the morning spread, and he obliged, filling up his plate. She chuckled, looking at him gently, and she glanced at Vergil. “I’ll be heading to the university by noon. Can I trust you two to prepare dinner again?”

The older twin nodded. “Of course,” he responded like a good son. 

“You say that like you’re the one cooking,” Dante teased. He ignored his brother’s glare, chuckling. 

“And you are keeping up with your studies, Dante?” she asked, raising a poised eyebrow. 

Dante smiled at her, innocently. “No.”

Vergil kicked him from under the table, but she was laughing, shaking her head in exasperation. “Idiot,” the older said, and as natural as breathing, they began to bicker, making offhand comments and insults which she would chide them for. 

The room filled with more talking, their conversation light and playful, and Dante ate his fill, drinking in this moment. It was sweet like maple, so syrupy and thick that anyone could close their eyes and drown in it. It was a perfect morning, like how it always was at the red manor.

She placed her cup of tea down, emptied with a hint of lavender still steaming on its porcelain. “I’m going to prepare for my lecture,” she said, getting up, and before she headed out the door, she stopped, placing a hand on Dante’s shoulder. “May I suggest parfait for dessert?”

Dante nodded, and she took her leave, disappearing into the hallways like a ghost. There was a moment of silence. 

“Do you think it’s a nice day outside?” Dante asked, looking out the window.

Vergil stilled, doing the same. “Can’t you tell?” he asked.

The devil hunter chuckled, throwing his brother a smile. “It was an invitation, not a question.”

They both stood up from the table, not minding the dirty plates and the leftovers. They didn’t speak as they left the room, walking the back entrance, nor did they look at each other, feeling each other’s footfall through the wooden flooring. Left foot, right foot, right foot, left foot, they kept the same pace in opposite stances. Then they reached the glass doors that led out into the meadow behind the manor, and they paused, one hand on each golden handle. 

Finally, their eyes met, aligning like stars. 

The glass doors opened, and the illusion shattered, their youthful makeup falling away. It was dark outside, as if it was the day that the sun died out, a bright shadow cast over an empty field where trees clawed their branches into the sky gaping like an angry wound and the rocks were made from the bones of slaughtered giants. Wails from the distance came in all directions, singing songs of decay throughout the land, and the air was stale with still time. They were the sights, the sounds, the tastes of reality. 

It all came back like a bullet to the brain, shocking the heart back to life, and pain erupted in restrained screams, the demonic roots set deep into the veins poisoning and feeding on their blood. The ugly face of a fowl beast from the Inferno was no surprise, carefully unhinging its jaw. Its teeth were blunt, arranged in rows like a shark.

Dante laughed, breathless as he saw the hands on the doors holding up Ivory and Ebony in a cross, fingers on the triggers. “ _Jackpot,_ ” he said, his brother’s voice intertwining, and shots ran into the abyss, two rounds piercing through. The beast fell onto the salted ground with a sickly sound.

The earth beneath them shifted like flesh, the roots in their veins hardening like nails on a coffin. Dante inhaled, filling his lungs with thin air, and he exhaled, letting the fire within him burn through his body. Agony reached his ears, but he fell deaf to it as he lost his senses.

He found them on his back, staring up through the skeleton hand of the hell tree that entrapped them. It was reaching for them, to devour them, but now, it was dead, its corpse hanging over them like a naked willow. Vergil was there with him, Ivory and Ebony laying side by side. Their fingers twitched weakly, caressing each other unintentionally.

“You were yelling,” Dante said, blinking. Just another day, another hour, another minute in Hell, and it was peaceful for this very moment. “Why did you pretend?”

Vergil was quiet at first, putting words to thought. “I wanted to stay with her,” he answered. “That night, I thought she’d abandoned me, and I scorned her, tarnishing my memories of her. I turned away from her in search of Father, but I found no one.”

 _Except for you,_ he did not say, but Dante heard it nonetheless. _You followed me into the dark._

“I wanted a new memory of her, one that I made as I am now,” Vergil continued, sighing, “but it wasn’t her. It could never be her. She’s gone, and no dream or illusion could replace her.”

Dante moved, lacing their fingers, and he squeezed his brother’s hand in praise, in sympathy, _in solace._ “You’d rather be in the Underworld than have dinner with our mother,” he said, grinning. “Does this count as teenage rebellion?”

“We’re long past that.” Vergil chuckled softly, and he returned his brother’s gesture playfully, fondly, _gently_. “You knew all along,” he said, neither chiding nor mocking, “but you went along with my farce. Why?”

“You wanted to stay with her. I wanted to stay with you. I have always, Vergil, in every waking moment, in every sleepless dream.”

“As have I, Dante. _Always._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter: [@kappachyun](https://twitter.com/kappachyun)


End file.
